smile at me.
by Cellino
Summary: the Professor, Mr Malfoy, soft beds, and unexpected emotions. part one? there may be more to come ....


.smile for me.  
  
  
***  
  
It wasn't a surprise for anyone that his favourite class was Potions,  
any more than they were surprised that he was sorted into Slytherin.  
He didn't make friends easily, but he wasn't as cunning as people   
thought he was — just quiet. There was nothing he had been good at,   
before Hogwarts, and no one to talk to; he was used to silence, and to  
glaring at people.  
On the first day of school, he didn't go to breakfast, didn't talk to  
anyone, didn't do anything until the day drew to a close.  
The last class of the day was Potions. Midway though, the teacher  
smiled at him — and, tentatively, he smiled back.  
It wasn't a surprise for anyone that when he grew up, he decided to   
teach potions.  
  
***  
  
"What was it like?" Draco asked suddenly one day, perched on the edge  
of Snape's desk, watching the last students file out of the dungeon.   
"When you were here."  
"Terrible," Snape said irritably. "I hated it. Don't you have a  
class to get to?"  
"It's -Divinations-. Completely useless, Professor, you know that."  
Snape put a hand down on top of Draco's. "I'll tell you about it  
later."  
Draco's eyes lit up. "When?"  
"-After- school." He glared, which failed to upset Draco's aren't-I-  
charming smile in any way. Then with a sigh, he pulled out a scrap of  
parchment and scrawled a pass to Divinations.  
"Go."  
"Not even a good-bye kiss?"  
"-Go-, Mr Malfoy."  
  
***  
  
Draco sulked all through Divinations.  
  
***  
  
When he was born, his father smiled for the first time in twenty years.  
His mother told him this, later, and he was quite upset. He had never  
seen his father smile — the tight, thin-lipped, "well isn't that nice?"  
smile, certainly; he was always falling short of his father's  
expectations, but a real smile? Only once, apparently, and he had been   
too young to remember it.  
When his mother told him, years later, that his father had smiled when  
he was born, he cried.  
  
***  
  
Years later, Draco Malfoy would be sitting in a charming little Muggle  
café in Paris, sharing stories of past lives and lost loves with, in   
fact, a former lover.  
"You slept with a -teacher-?" his friend would say, not bothering to  
disguise the skepticism — or tinge of disgust — in his voice. "At  
-seventeen-?"  
"Sixteen," Draco would reply matter-of-factly. "You see ..." He would  
close his eyes, trying to recapture that time. "I needed someone to say  
they loved me."  
  
***  
  
The door opened as he walked up to it, which was, quite frankly,   
beginning to get on his nerves. He strolled in nonchalantly, aren't-I-  
charming grin plastered on his face, raking a hand through his hair, to  
find Snape at his desk, grading papers. As always.  
"Sit down, Mr Malfoy."  
The aren't-I-charming grin faded from his face as he plopped down in  
the easy chair by the dying fire, to be replaced by a pout. "But ...  
Professor ...."  
"One -moment-, Mr Malfoy."  
Draco sat in silence for a few minutes, eyes closed, shivering as the  
fire died, the only sound the scratch of a quill. "Professor ...?"  
Snape threw his quill on the floor, ignoring it as it chittered angrily  
at him, flying back toward its spot on the desk. "-Yes-, Mr Malfoy?"  
"Can I re-light the fire? It's getting cold in here," Draco asked  
innocently.  
  
***  
  
He was surprised, but he didn't show it, of course, expression and   
voice carefully monitored.  
And then he sat down. And bounced slightly. And broke out into an   
uncharacteristically sunny grin. "You have the most -incredibly- soft  
bed!"  
Severus muttered something about a bad back.  
Draco ignored him and stretched out on the bed. "This is -so- soft,"  
he repeated. Eyes closed, he felt the bed moving, but didn't think about   
it. "You know, I never really thought about teachers having bedrooms."  
"Well, I do," Severus said, bemused.  
"Hey," Draco cracked one eye open. "Wanna put it to good use?" The  
eye closed again.  
"Honestly, Mr Malfoy!" His tone was good-natured, though, and he ran a  
long, thin finger down the side of Draco's face. He moved so that he was  
leaning over Draco, whose eyes snapped open.  
"Professor," he breathed, "I —" The rest of his sentence was cut off   
by a fierce kiss.  
"Mr Malfoy," and this time Severus sounded -very- amused, "-please- be  
quiet."  
And Draco was. Mostly. 


End file.
